


Things Unspoken

by riverlight



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: M/M, Pillow Talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-09
Updated: 2012-02-09
Packaged: 2017-10-30 20:50:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/335921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riverlight/pseuds/riverlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Robbie wants, sometimes, to ask James what it is exactly he's done in bed with men; not a question that he'd ever have dreamt of asking a partner when he was James' age, but it's a different world these days, isn't it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things Unspoken

**Author's Note:**

> For the Porn Battle XIII (Lucky Thirteen), for the prompt "questions"—my first Porn Battle ficlet! Thanks to surexit for the Britpick & beta, and to dira for the "things happen that you can't expect." Much appreciated, ladies.

Robbie wants, sometimes, to ask James what it is exactly he's done in bed with men; not a question that he'd ever have dreamt of asking a partner when he was James' age, but it's a different world these days, isn't it? If Nick Brown can be openly gay as MP for Tyne-and-Wear, surely Robbie Lewis can talk about sex with his—whatever James is to him, now? If he's going to have James in his bed (and he is, he is, if Robbie has anything to say about it) then surely he's allowed to broach the subject? 

Because James is—skittish, about sex; normal enough, Robbie supposes, for a man who'd wanted to be a priest (of all things) before becoming a copper, but—if he's going to have James in his bed, Robbie wants to _know,_ without any of this eeling about that James likes to do. It's not that James has problems with the actual sex side of things, Robbie doesn't think, but—he's a private bugger, James is, and if Robbie knows anything, it's that James doesn't want to _talk._ Not shy so much as that he's just reserved, Robbie's figured out that much after six years, but whatever the reason, James is vague to the point of obfuscation about his experience with men. 

(Robbie's considered, and then dismissed, the idea that James is vague about his experience because he hasn't any; that foolishness with the Yorkie bars aside, he's far too bold about touching Robbie and being touched to be doing the anxious-straight-bloke bit, and besides, there'd be no point to all his slipperiness on the subject in that case, would there? No, James has done this before, Robbie's sure—it's just the extent of it that he questions.)

It's not that Robbie's _worried_ about James, precisely; James is a grown man and can take care of himself, as Robbie knows firsthand. It's only that—well, he wants it to be good for him. He and Val had a great sex life all along; it would've surprised his twenty-year-old self to think of it, he's sure, but there it is. Not that it was always simple, but never _hard—_ and he thinks it has been, sometimes, for James. So if he wonders, it's only because he'll be damned if he lets James believe even for an instant that what they do involves the body and not, as James might say, the inner man. 

So he doesn't ask about what lurks, unspoken, in James' history, because he knows James and James won't answer. A whip-sharp tilt of eyebrow, a smart word, and he'll deflect Robbie's carefully-vague question, with only the barest flicker of apology in his eyes to show he knows he's done it. 

But direct questions—those are an entirely different story, and, well, if he's taking advantage of James' work-ingrained inclination to respond, then so be it; Robbie will pay the piper when that day comes if what he gets in the meantime is _this,_ James spread out utterly naked on his bed, loose-limbed with pleasure and gasping _god, yes_ when Robbie asks if he likes it, if he wants it, if it feels good. 

Because James will answer _those_ questions, will whisper _yes, please, I want, oh_ in response to Robbie's _can I touch you,_ will answer Robbie's murmured inquiries with _like that, yes,_ or _more, please, Robbie,_ hardly-coherent words whispered into Robbie's mouth between kisses. And if Robbie slips and says _do you like it, love? tell me you like it,_ well, maybe he never thought he'd say it again after Val, never thought he'd feel it, but that's how it goes, isn't it? He may not have expected—well, all this, James, and the way he feels at the sight of James with his back arched and hands clenched in Robbie's duvet—but things happen that you can't expect, and so you have to say it while you can. 

So he whispers endearments against the curve of James' neck, the line of his jaw, the corner of his mouth, presses affection and love and desire onto James' skin with his kisses, and holds on as James clutches him and moans and comes apart under his hands. And if James hasn't learnt to say it in return that's all right; the look on his face is answer enough. Nothing enigmatic about him now, no more secrets, just his face bright and open and transfigured in the wash of pleasure. James may not have learnt to say it in return yet but that's all right. They have time.


End file.
